


1988

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Feeling B era, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Teen Crush, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: In the middle of a party, Flake notices Paul flirting with a woman.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1988

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fouroux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouroux/gifts).



> This is a Christmas gift fic for Inchy! I also wrote this out on paper for them, thus the short length! Merry Christmas ♡

The overlapping cacophony of dozens of voices fills the room, joined by the hollering of some obnoxiously wild boys, who simply want attention. He hears the raucous laughter of drunk women. Music surrounds them all. Such a clusterfuck of noise—which is beginning to irritate Flake. Typically, he is just as eager to indulge in this depraved behavior, for he finds it fun, but tonight, he’s dealing with a migraine and vicious jealousy.

A woman is with Paul. She’s sitting far too closely to him on a beat up couch in the corner of the long room, one of her knees pressed to his thigh. The pair is partially hidden by a kicked-in drum set and a broken amp (both left to be abused by the hands of drunken, violent idiots). If Flake recalls correctly, it’s the bassist of Die Firma. What’s-her-face. Flake is bad with names. But he especially erases the names of the people Paul fucked.

They’re curled up in a disgustingly amorous way. Her legs are folded atop the couch, facing him, hand lightly resting on his jean-clad thigh as if that’s where it belonged. Paul’s lean legs are crossed, shoulder against the backrest of the couch, hands moving as he talks to her with a coy grin curling at his cute lips. From this perspective, Flake can see his eyes. They’re alive and bright.

Flake himself is sitting hunched over in a ring of people. Everyone is drinking and talking, but he’s filtered it all out, his focus solely on _Paul._ He has a bottle of beer gripped in his hands, held in the cradle of his folded legs. Envy is like an acidic poison in his chest. He attempts to mask the fact he’s obsessively staring across the room at the pair by letting his gaze wander, but his eyes assuredly flick back over to watch them chat and smile and idly touch each other.

Intensifying the anxious disgust in Flake’s stomach, he sees Paul lean in, slender hand raising to cup her cheek, pulling her into the kiss. Paul angles his head, his bleached ponytail caught against the collar of his jacket, his eyes closed lightly, brow relaxed. Flake can’t look away. He’s hypnotized by the sight of Paul’s lovely lips pursing firmly against hers, his thumb stroking down over her cheek to rest on her chin. Flake swallows thickly, his face hot.

A burst of arousal blooms in his belly, unwanted as it may be. He clutches at the front of his oversized hoodie, squirming in place where he sits. He stares, bewitched by Paul’s controlled, handsome face, the way his mouth moves against hers, how his cheeks are becoming a lovely rouge color, stark against his pale Berliner complexion. He removes his hand from her face to run it along the side of her throat, fingers skimming over her skin. Flake feels sick, and terribly aroused simultaneously. His cock is painfully stiff, trapped in the confines of his faded jeans.

Considering Paul isn’t much of an exhibitionist, and people are starting to notice the face-sucking, he breaks away, grins at her with deliciously reddened lips, and takes her by the hand. Flake continues squeezing the front of his sweater, using it as an anchor against the horrible feeling of self-hatred and incredible, suffocating _want_ coiling in his chest. Flake wishes he wasn’t such an unlovable, awkward kid. Paul will never see him as anything beyond a friend. Who would?

In the back of his mind, he suddenly wishes he was a hot woman with fantastic tits and a dazzling smile. Then maybe Paul would actually _look_ at him.

Tears burn behind Flake’s eyes. He watches Paul guide the bassist woman through the crowd of jeering people. At least a dozen drunken onlookers tease the pair as they abscond. Paul takes it in stride; he laughs and rolls his eyes, a big grin on his boyish face. Meanwhile, Tatjana (her name being an unwanted recollection to Flake) flips everyone off.

Abruptly, as if magnetized, Paul’s gaze pierces through the swarm of standing people at just the last moment to meet Flake’s. Flake’s breath catches. Something must have shown on Flake’s face—Paul’s grin softens, disappearing. His eyes harden. Tatjana pulls Paul from the room before Flake could read his expression any further.

Flake drops his stare to the beer bottle in his hands. He realizes his heart is pounding. He can barely breathe. His chest is tight. Eyes becoming distant, Flake absentmindedly peels off the damp label of the beer bottle. He flicks the chunks of wet, torn paper at the floor, becoming increasingly violent in force until he nearly throws the bottle itself. Instead, Flake calmly sets it down on the floor and rises. He shoves his cold hands into the pockets of his jeans and trudges out of the room through a separate exit, head hung and shoulders curled in as if to make himself as invisible as he feels.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
